Keep Yourself Warm
by Klainey
Summary: It's not a one-night-stand. Not really. Not in his mind at least. He just wants to be the one to hold him, the one to treasure him, and for longer than a few hours. It's an utopia though, an unattainable dream. But what a dream it is.


Sweat on planes of pale skin, palms gliding over shoulders, down backs, down, down, _down. _The rocking of their bodies crashes the bed into the wall and he should care, he should bitch but he doesn't because _yes right there, Bas, please, more. _The high pitch would irritate him, but it doesn't because he's here, in his bed, between his sheets, slick with sweat and lube and god knows what else, because they've been going at it for what feels like _hours _now. There are hands grappling at his back, blunt nails scratching red stripes, teeth biting at his shoulder, shuddering moans urging him to go _faster, deeper, harder, more, please ._

He's drunk; he knows he is. He knows he's going to regret this in the morning, if he even remembers. Somewhere, deep down, he hopes he does.

He needs coffee. Badly. He knows he slept with somebody last night. He knows of brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and a mouth to die for, whether on his own or spewing harsh sarcastic comments about 'tacky glitter decorations' and 'the fact that they're gay could've maybe shown in the interior design?' He remembers a wisp of vanilla and rose perfume, which should smell like woman and _ew — _he's pretty damn sure he likes cock, thank you very much— but instead it sends a spark of arousal down his spine.

He needs a shower. And then coffee.

* * *

The Lima Bean. A horrible pun, the bland, sheer lack of imagination in Ohio only amplified by a coffee bean in a sombrero and i_honestly ,_ it's only because he can't work out all the buttons on his mother's coffee machine that he comes here. He orders a shot of espresso, to take the edge off. Then another, to try and chase away the fog from last night's drinking. Then another, with a shot of Courvoisier, just for shits and giggles. And maybe a little to try and forget again, but he'd never admit that. He's learned that drinking even _more _ rarely makes him actually forget, but another pretty face usually does the trick pretty thoroughly. Or so he tells himself.

He drops down on one of the tables to the side, letting the caffeine course through his veins and his eyes roam over the coffee shop.

Then _he _ walks in, and he's all compact lines and charming smiles and high waters and loafers and _god _if that wasn't enough to set his gaydar to i_Elton John , _the hair gel certainly is.

Helmet-scalp sits down at a table for two, clearly expecting someone, but he can't bring himself to give a fuck. Not when there's that much of a contrast. The contrast between tan skin and pale-as-porcelain. The contrast between muscled legs that just do not seem to end and the short matchsticks this guy seems to be walking on. The contrast between icy blue and warm honey-hazel. The contrast between _then_ and now.

He's perfect. Perfect to forget.

He plasters on his show-smile and saunters over, plopping himself down in the seat across from him unceremoniously.

"Hey there, gorgeous."

A slow flush creeps up from under the boys collar and he has to suppress an eye-roll. He makes an educated guess. Wealthy family, giant house, parents never home, son turns out gay, parents home even less out of self-pity and regret, and so the small boy would probably throw himself at the first guy to pay him any attention. Excellent. Though he doesn't like taking people's virginity—not as much ethical reasons as an aversion to awkward fumbling and such—he figures that this guy must be frustrated as fuck, and thus pretty fierce in bed. Besides, he has a nice ass.

He tries to make some small talk, tries to seem genuinely interested and even succeeds in suppressing a yawn tickling in his chest, but it's all so bland, and nothing can keep his thoughts from drifting to full pink lips stretched around his cock, to long legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer, to a lean torso arching up towards his mouth as he made his way down, and—

"So, do you have a boyfriend?"

He might have just interrupted Gel head's undoubtedly _fascinating _speech about god-knows-what—probably how much socks are overrated or something—but he doesn't care. He knows the answer already anyways, and it'll just bring him one step closer to getting off.

"I do actually. His name's Kurt."

He almost chokes on his drink, but succeeds in covering it up as a surprised laugh, which isn't much better, in his opinion, but it's a little better at least. Interesting. Very interesting. The name Kurt tickles something in the back of his mind, but he knows it's probably just another name whispered out between harsh, meaningless kisses or even around a dick. Nothing he hasn't seen or heard. He wants to know what makes this Kurt special enough to get to tap that ass. He wants to know what makes Hobbit's—Blaine, he reminds himself— eyes get that love-struck glint. He wants to know why it is that Blaine gets to be happy and remembering, but he has to forget.

"…Honestly, I don't even know how I got so lucky to get him, but he's really, really great."

He's on the verge of falling face forward on the table when a high voice interrupts his thoughts. He startles, his eyes suddenly focusing again and _yes , _it _is _him. He schools his features back to their usual easy smirk and condescending look, but he can't help but notice the flash of recognition in _Kurt's _eyes.

And suddenly it makes sense.

_"I really can't do this, I-I don't know what came into me, I just—"_

_He lets the pun slide, grabs his wrist, tries to guide him back to the bed, making soothing sounds and trying to push the hair back from that beautiful face but he bats his hands away and buries his face in his hands._

"_Why can't you just stay here a while, maybe we can go for a round two, and—"_

"_Fuck, Sebastian, I have a boyfriend."_

_That had shut him up sufficiently. He grapples for words, tries to say something before he loses this boy for what he knows would probably be forever and he will regret it. But all he can come up with is: "Fuck."_

_The boy turns to him, a hint of something he can't quite place in his eyes, and then he surges forward, kissing him softly, softer than he has all night, and a little curl of hope unfurls in the pit of his stomach, but then the boy is picking up his clothes and when the door slams behind him, he feels more alone than ever. _

"Umm, Kurt, this is Sebastian."

Blaine waves a hand in his general direction, ignorant of everything that's going on between the two boys _right _in front of him. Jesus, is he _blind _or something? He must be one hell of a fuck, because he can't think of another reason for somebody like Kurt to be with somebody like…t_hat ._

But Kurt just plasters on a smile as real as his boyfriend's tan hands—seriously, the guy is only tan around his fingers, it looks like he covered them with spray tan—and sticks out his hand.

"Pleasure."

He has to bite his tongue to not let something about 'pleasure' slip, and settles on a handshake that might have lasted just a fraction of a second too long to be completely generic-first-meeting. If Kurt notices though, he doesn't comment on it, instead letting his long fingers drag against the palm of his hand just a little too long when he pulls back.

Blaine seems to finally notice something is off, looking confusedly between the two of them, then at his clearly-not-yet-empty cup of coffee.

"I'll… I'll just get some more coffee. Either of you guys want anything?"

They quickly shake their heads, near desperate for a chance to—

To what? To talk about what happened when they were drunk? To laugh about the absurdity of the situation? For him to confess that it wasn't just a meaningless fuck for him?

He doesn't know; he's not sure he wants to know.

He waits until he's sure that Blaine is out of hearing distance to work up the courage to say something, but Kurt beats him to it.

"I don't know what's going on here, I don't know what you're trying to do, hell,I'm not even sure of who you are, but I have seven words for you, if you can count that far: Stay. The. Hell. Away. From. My. Boyfriend."

At that he sits back in his chair, arms folded in a challenging pose, daring him to say something back. But he doesn't. Instead he smirks to hide his hurt.

"Did it seem like I was interested in your fucking _boyfriend _last night?"

Kurt's eyes narrow, and something tells him this was _not _the right thing to say. Then again, when has referencing to a one-night-stand ever been the right thing to do? Still, he can't fathom what would possibly make Kurt think he's interested in i_Blaine . _He lets his eyes roam over Kurt suggestively.

"What about a do-over of last night?"

Kurt already opens his mouth, but he quickly corrects himself.

"I mean, starting at the _beginning _of the night. Just a few drinks, between friends. We'll see how the night progresses from there on."

He tacks on a wink at the end, just for good measure, and he sees Kurt's eyes narrow impossibly more. His features straighten out, getting schooled into something resembling calm.

"Deal."

He has to bite his tongue to not let his smirk turn into a full-blown (no pun intended) grin.

* * *

He goes to Scandals the next night, with no intention other than to get as many guys as possible for a quickie in the bathrooms. He picks them tanned, short, with black, blonde, one of them even with pink hair. There are chocolate eyes, golden eyes, hazel, alligator green, steel blue, but never, ever, does he pick out a guy with eyes the color of sea glass, or chestnut hair, or even designer clothing. Maybe he just hasn't stumbled upon a guy with those characteristics that was to his liking yet, he tells himself. Maybe it's his subconscious desperately trying to get him off the thought of _Kurt_, his scumbag brain helpfully . Even the name sends a jolt of painful nerves and something that could be arousal if he'd let it be that up his spine.

Next Friday evening he finds himself at Scandals again. The sign at the door says 'Drag Queen Wednesday', a symbol of how utterly pathetic a gay club in Ohio can be. He's already nursing his second beer of the evening. Liquid courage, he tells the bartender. Too much of a coward to do this sober, he tells himself.

He has just turned down the third Drag Queen, a Tina Turner lookalike with too much cologne and too fake a wig, when they enter. They look nervous, both of them, even though he knows Kurt has been here before. He just smirks in their general direction and waves them over while ordering drinks.

They make their way through the crowd—though one can hardly call it that—holding hands and glancing around nervously at the forty-something men obviously checking them out. They _are _a sight to see, he can't deny that. Kurt is clad in a lot more provocative clothing than he was last time. He is wearing fucking bondage skinny jeans, and a dress shirt and blazer combo that fit him like a glove. Blaine, on the other hand, is clad in his usual grandpa meets fifties meets hipster attire.

He suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. He seems to have to do that a lot around Blaine. The kid is practically skipping with nerves and excitement, attracting looks, and not the good kind. Kurt however, is trying to stay low key a little more. He grabs his boyfriends hand—_boyfriend. _Even the thought of it leaves a foul taste in his mouth that has nothing to do with the god-awful beer in his hand.

They reach him just at the same time as the bartender, a twenty-two year old with too many tats to be socially acceptable and a couple of piercings, in his ears as well as… other places, He knows how it feels to have _that_ piercing catch on his lip (and then having come land in his eye. That shit _stings ._). Other than the less than sufficient bed-quality though, he's a pretty nice guy.

He slides the drinks over to him with a wink and a mouthed 'Have fun tonight, tiger'. He smiles back halfheartedly and has his smirk already back into place when he turns around to hand the newcomers their drinks.

"Here you go, Kurt, a beer. And, Blaine, a _virgin _Cosmo."

He doesn't necessarily _mean _to stress the 'virgin', it just happens. For example, like accidently coming on someone's face happens, or having the best sex ever with a person who then turns out to have a boyfriend happens. Blaine lets it slide, though it earns him an exasperated sigh from Kurt.

The silence stretches over about half a song, before he deems it too awkward to continue. He finishes off his beer, stands up from the bar stool, and stretches. He raises his hands up above his head and stretches his muscles, tired from sitting at the bar in the same position for so long. He is pleased to notice that both Kurt and Blaine's eyes are drawn to the little strip of skin he knows is visible between his shirt and his jeans. There's only a tiny glint of mischief in his eyes as he says, completely casually: "Let's dance."

The two boys opposite him quickly glance at each other, an unspoken conversation going between them, but then Kurt nods, a tiny smile tugging at the left corner of his mouth.

The music in the bar is bad, to put it lightly. Actually, it's a mix of songs that were popular ten years ago and bad remixes of songs that were popular ten years ago. But it's got a beat to it, and that's the only important thing. They move to the dance floor, if it can even be called that, and start to dance. Well, he and Kurt start to dance. Blaine just starts jumping around like an overenthusiastic puppy and _how _did he ever get _Kurt _? Fortunately Kurt notices too, and he pulls him in to whisper something in his ear.

Whatever he says, it must've made an impression, because the jumping decreases and they start dancing against each other. They still look ridiculous: Blaine doing these jerky arm movements, while Kurt…_Kurt . _He has lifted his arms up over his head and is moving his hips to the beat. It's a slower song, and he moves as if in a trance. All Sebastian can do is stare, as the beat quickens, picks up with the pace of his heart and i_Jesus , _he's about to get hard because Kurt is positively thrusting his hips now.

_He has him pressed up against the door of his bedroom, head tilted back and the expanse of his pale neck an invitation for his lips to latch on. Their hips are thrusting against each other, looking for friction, relief, anything. _

Before he knows it, he is standing behind him, and his hands are well on their way to Kurt's hips, but he catches himself just in time and moves his hands back up. As he does so though, a slender hand shoots out to grab his, and places it on his hip.

Kurt doesn't even look back, doesn't even open his eyes, just keeps his hand over Sebastian's on his hip. His other hand is on Blaine's hip, and Sebastian feels a sharp twist in his stomach. It's just dancing. It's innocent. It means nothing. _He _means nothing .

The beat changes again, something dark and slow and syrupy in its tones. It sticks to him and slides down his arms like the sweat, and it's too warm, too hot in the bar. The cheap lights shine down on them as they gyrate, all three of them, moving back and forth, against each other, against Kurt, who is trapped between them, and then Kurt's head tips back on his shoulder and he feels like he's suffocating when he sees Blaine's hand making unmistakable hand motions on Kurt's crotch.

He knows he should walk away now, let them do their thing, have their fun, but he _can't , _can't tear his eyes away, can't let the beat drown out the breathy moans he recognizes all too well, can't help the way his hand squeezes over Kurt's hip, can't help his own reaction to the whole situation. The music is going on, the beat doesn't stop, their bodies keep moving, Kurt keeps moaning and he panics. He sees Blaine mouthing at Kurt's neck, he sees the strain against jeans and the strain of muscles, feels the strain of his mind, screaming at him to back away, to a bathroom stall to jerk off, but he _can't ._

He sees Blaine's tongue flicking out to lick at a droplet of sweat threatening to slide down Kurt's neck, and that's it, that's his cue to leave. He pulls his hand off Kurt's hip, stumbles to the bar, not drunk, not off of booze anyways, and plops down on one of the stools. His head is spinning, his hands are shaking, and the beat is throbbing in his heart and somewhere in the back of his mind a voice is yelling at the plans slowly taking shape in his head, but he quickly drowns it out with another swig of beer. He sees the two boys making their way to the exit, unable to keep their hands and mouths off each other, and he _knows . _He knows he's not supposed to break them up, not when they are so perfectly happy, when _Kurt _ is so happy. But when has he ever been known to take the high road?

He wakes to something snuggling his chest. He looks down, sees a mess of dirty blonde hair, and he knows he must've been piss-drunk last night, because he never lets his conquests sleep in his bed. Ever. He wriggles out from under the man's grasp and dashes to the shower to wash off the stench of alcohol and stale cigarettes.

When he comes back the man is gone, luckily. He hates this. Not sex, _god_ no, he loves sex. It's the 'after' part that he hates. He hates having to hope to not have to talk to the person he's had sex with the night before. He hates smelling other men on his skin. He hates sneaking out of beds under the cover of night, sneaking out of windows and avoiding the yellow-orange circles of light like he can't stand to be seen like this. Which is at least half the truth.

He hasn't always been like this. He used to be a good boy, used to go to all of his classes, get straight As, the whole deal. But then he discovered booze, and the feeling of being wanted, the feeling of being anonymous in a sea of grinding, thrusting, sweating bodies. And, of course, the feeling of soft lips tightly stretched around his cock, and the blazing heat of an orgasm caused by someone else. But it all seems dull now. Superficial. Sure, those few hours of sex (at most) are good; great even, but what for? What is a minute of pure pleasure against a night of trying to drink away his self-loathing?

Answer: more than a night spent drinking alone at home.

* * *

It becomes their weekly thing; going to Scandals, getting a few drinks until Blaine and Kurt practically start fucking in the middle of the dance floor, after which they will walk out of the bar, and he will order a few shots of vodka, and that's about as far as his memories last him every week, until he wakes up in a strange bed with a strange man and a very familiar feeling of shame.

And memories of wishing it were brown hair instead of blonde, blue eyes instead of brown or green or whatever color they are because they're just never _right _.

It's another three weeks before anything happens, really _happens _. Every month Scandals organizes this stunt to get more young folks to the bar, and the drinks are half-priced for people under forty. It doesn't do much, but there are usually more people.

They're dancing, the beat thrumming in their veins and pounding in their hearts. They're grinding against each other to the bass-line of some upbeat song blasting from practically ancient speakers, and the static is just this side of annoying. The song has a lugubrious mood to it, and even though the words don't quite penetrate the cocoon that has formed around the three of them, their tone does. Kurt's been more tactile and touchy and iall over him than usual.

At the moment, for example, he has his head tipped back on Sebastian's shoulder, and he is grinding his ass back into Bas' crotch at every strum of bass. The lights are too bright and sweat is dripping down his forehead. A drop of sweat rolls down his face, over his jaw, down his neck, and Kurt turns his head and traces the path with his tongue. For three weeks, it had just been shy touches, hidden and secretive. For three weeks, he had been fighting to keep his wits about him, to not touch Kurt like that, to not think about him like that, to forget about that night. But then he breaks.

He feels the warm wetness of Kurt's tongue, even the hot air of the bar cool on the trail on his face, the hot puffs of breath against his cheek, and he turns his head and captures Kurt's lips in a kiss. There are no fireworks. There isn't even that 'spark' that people so often talk about. There's just the smell of sweat and stale beer and _Kurt _ drowning his senses. The only thought that goes through his mind is that _fuck _his lips are as soft as they were _that _ night and he tastes exactly the same and he _can't _ because Blaine, his boyfriend, the reason they shouldn't have in the first place, is _right there . _

He's too drunk to notice though, instead continuing to dance in that ridiculous Teletubby-meets-kangaroo kind of way. And they keep kissing. Kurt's lips are soft against his, moving in careful, practiced movements, too in-control for the amount of alcohol in his system. He wants him like earlier, loose, pliant, and inhibition-less. So he lightly traces the seam of his lips with the tip of his tongue, and _there it is . _His mouth opens willingly, allowing Sebastian to just take, fucking into his mouth with his tongue. He feels the moans more than he hears them. He can feel the rumbling where Kurt's back is still practically glued against his chest, and he can feel the vibrations on his lips, taste them on his tongue.

When he pulls back for breath and opens his eyes again, he sees a pair of brown eyes staring into his. Shit. Blaine is there too. They're still at Scandals. And Blaine is looking angry as all hell. Kurt has still got his head tipped back onto his shoulder, and is blissfully unaware of the stare-down between his boyfriend and the guy he has been grinding against for the past half hour. That is, until he notices how quiet they've both become. His body had gone rigid, his eyes wide, and his brain racing to make up all kinds of excuses as to why exactly he had been making out with Blaine's boyfriend.

Whether it's the alcohol or the sheer power of will, he'll never know, but apparently, Blaine is seeing this as a challenge. A test, perhaps. A test of Kurt's faithfulness, of his own courage, of just how far Sebastian is willing to take it in this little game. He slides his hands around Kurt's torso, pulling him closer until their lips touch, and Sebastian vaguely wonders if he could still taste him on his lips. He notices the beat picking up again, and Kurt's hips, i_God , _Kurt's hips have resumed their movements again. He envies Blaine, he really does, he even respects the little bugger, deep down inside somewhere maybe, but now there is nothing else he wants to do than to bodily drag Kurt to the backroom and fuck him into a wall. Or get fucked into a wall by him, he wouldn't make a fuss.

But then there is Blaine, who is apparently going all out to persuade Kurt of his better qualities as a boyfriend, which is ridiculous because he _knows _ that Kurt will pick him in the end, he knows, but he still doesn't let a chance to rub it in Sebastian's face pass. He doesn't let it bother him though. He can't. Letting himself feel has gotten him into trouble more times than he can even count anymore. That's why he went away from France in the first place, away from Paris and it's endless supply of willing boys, away from the _coup de foudre _, gone as suddenly as it had appeared. But he has a beautiful boy in front of him now, so he doesn't let his feelings drag him underwater; instead, he focuses on the swell of his ass as it pushes back against his crotch, even as his _boyfriend_'s hands are roaming Kurt's chest, carding through his hair, blatantly feeling him up in front of the whole bar. Yet Kurt still decides to play along.

He moans into Blaine's mouth, licking, sucking almost obscenely loud. The fact that he's so obviously putting on a show makes something hot and possessive twist up in Sebastian's stomach. He settles his hands on Kurt's hips again, squeezing, grounding both Kurt and himself as he pushes his hips forward, dragging his rapidly hardening cock along Kurt's ass. He sees Blaine amp it up, licking into Kurt's mouth with renewed vigor until they both pull back, panting and clutching at each other. He almost feels bad for intruding, but then Kurt tips his head back onto his shoulder, and the little puffs of hot breath against his cheek almost tip him over the edge. He squeezes his hips tighter, and even dares bending his head down to mouth at Kurt's neck, seeing as Blaine seems to be busy sucking on Kurt's nipples through his shirt. He would be concerned about the fact that at least three quarters of the bar is staring at them, and he's pretty sure he's seen quite a few people adjusting themselves in their jeans, leather pants, cut-off jeans shorts, or whatever the fuck they are wearing but it just _doesn't bother him ._

It's when Blaine almost drops to his knees in the middle of the bar that he speaks up, because he might have an exhibition kink that would embarrass a dog in heat, but sucking someone's cock in the middle of a crowded dance floor…let's just say that there still are things even he wouldn't do. Blaine's eyes are closed, as are Kurt's, and he has to fight the urge to just give into temptation and shove his tongue down Kurt's throat as Kurt shoves his cock down his boyfriend's throat, onlookers be damned, but he knows that the aftermath would be anything but pleasant. He reaches over and taps Blaine on the shoulder, now that he's still within reach. He sees a flicker of irritation in those big brown eyes when they focus on him, but he knows this is better for all of them.

"Let's take this outside."

He doesn't roll his eyes as Blaine all but trips over his feet in his haste to get outside. Kurt is still leaning heavily against him, pale neck covered in hickeys he knows is not just Blaine's work, but he's not sure if Blaine knows that too. He decides not to tell him, for both their sakes. He knows his hips are still moving in time to the music, and Kurt's are too. He knows Kurt heard him, yet he can't bring himself to stop moving now that Blaine's outside. At last, almost half a song later, Kurt untangles himself from his grip and turns around to face him. He feels slender hands on his own hips now, and Kurt pulls him closer to rest his forehead against Sebastian's collarbone for a moment before he looks up.

"We should get going, Blaine's gonna worry."

His words only sound slightly slurred, and his eyes are focused on Sebastian's. He nods dumbly and follows Kurt outside. He doesn't let his eyes wander around the bar, because all of a sudden everyone is dancing, chatting, flirting, and pretending really hard not to have seen them. It's part of it, he knows, but he doesn't want to be reminded of the fact that he's basically nothing. They've only just stepped out, and Blaine had apparently been waiting just outside the door, because in two seconds flat he's got Kurt pressed against the nearest wall. Blaine moves to kiss Kurt, but he turns his head away.

"No, Blaine, not here."

He doesn't know if it's the alcohol—it's been established time and time again that Blaine can't hold his liquor—but Blaine completely ignores Kurt and grabs his face in two hands to kiss him. Sebastian sees Kurt's face scrunch up, sees his hands come up to Blaine's chest, and he thinks 'well, at least I tried.' But then Kurt pushes Blaine away with a force he didn't know was in those arms. He stands shaking against the wall, arms pressed against his side, hands balled into fists.

"I said no, Blaine!"

"But, baby, don't you love me?"

Blaine grabs for his hands, tries to get him to open up again, tries to move closer and kiss his neck, but Kurt just pushes him away again.

"Blaine, I said no, please stop!"

Blaine is not having any of it, as it seems, because he just lunges for Kurt again, trapping him against the wall and leaning in to whisper in his ear, loud enough for Sebastian to hear him.

"I'm gonna make it so good for you, don't worry, love, I'll make it so good, I promise."

Kurt struggles to get Blaine's hands off him, and Sebastian stands there and watches. He feels sick, but he can't bring himself to stop watching. It's like a train wreck and a car crash all combined. He sees tears glistening in Kurt's eyes, and he's about to move when he hears Blaine, angry now, whisper again.

"Who else were you gonna fuck tonight?"

He freezes mid-movement.

"That slut Sebastian you were dry-humping all night?"

He feels all blood draining his face.

"Because that's what he is. A dirty slut. I bet he has all kinds of dirty diseases that he'd just _love _ to give to you."

Blaine was now outright yelling, stepping away from Kurt to turn to Sebastian.

"So do you? Do you want to fuck my boyfriend, give him all the crap you have? Well you can't, because he's _my boyfriend . _And you'll never have him. Feel free to watch, though, I know how you get off to that, you fucking pervert!"

He is stunned into silence. For once in his life, Sebastian Smythe doesn't know what to say. Blaine just throws him a last dirty look and goes back to kiss Kurt, only to find that Kurt is not where he's left him. Somewhere during his soliloquy he's stepped away from the wall, and he is now behind Blaine, looking absolutely _broken . _He has his arms wrapped around himself and his chin is against his chest.

"Kurt, look at me."

Blaine put two fingers under Kurt's chin and tips his face up, but Kurt jerks his head away and steps back.

"No. I won't listen to you. You listen to me. I am _not _a possession. I am not your personal sex toy, nor am I some prude princess that you have to protect from the outside world. Maybe I _like _dancing with other guys, has that ever come into your mind? Maybe I like to feel wanted by guys that are _not you _."

He stabs his finger into Blaine's chest.

"When I say that I don't want to have sex with you tonight, then leave me alone, goddamnit! Don't just—" a sob interrupts him, but he swallows it down and continues. "Don't just force yourself on me! I know you, Blaine, and this? This is not about me feeling good, or about you feeling like sex, this is about me being wanted by other guys. You're just a scared little boy, Blaine." He reaches up and cups Blaine's cheek, who looks on the verge of tears. "That's not bad, but you can't always just take what you want. Life is not a Disney movie, and you have to accept that sometimes there isn't just _one _significant other for everyone. Love is not that simple." He looks at Sebastian with something like longing in his eyes. Blaine seems to catch it too, and the anger is back in full force.

"So you i_do _ want to fuck him, too. You know what, I don't even care anymore about your _stupid _ Disney stories and whatnot. Just go ahead. Fuck him. Get it over with, and I hope that you're very happy in those thirty fucking minutes, because it's not like you're ever going to have a relationship again after _he _fucks you up. Didn't you hear him in the coffee shop?" He does a high, nasal impersonation of Sebastian's voice. "'I don't _do_ relationships.' And 'I met the love of my life on the dance floor yesterday, it lasted twenty minutes.' Well, I wish you all the best, but not with _me _!" With that, he turns around and walks to his car.

It takes two seconds for Sebastian to snap out of it and be at his side. He sits down next to him, not sure of what to do. He has never done this. Never is the one having to comfort. Not that he has ever needed comfort himself. No, he finds comfort in the stinging burn of vodka down his throat or the stretch-and-burn of a cock in his ass. But _this_. It hurts him to see someone he—likes? Cares for? Let's keep it on that— someone he cares for so fucking _in pieces . _He felt guilt, twisting and turning low in his stomach. It was _his _fault that they had broken up. They might have—probably would have— in the long run, but he feels seriously bad that he is the cause of Kurt's heartbreak.

He tries to see it as just collateral damage because 'desperate is easy', right? But he can't bring himself to see Kurt as just another willing body, no, not after what he's just witnessed. He gathers all the courage he has left, and wraps one arm around the shivering boy next to him.

Immediately Kurt turns to him, voice throaty and hoarse and thick with tears, but with a dignity that he never seems to lose.

"So? What are you waiting for? We've done it once, we can do it again. With Blaine gone, this is gonna be the last time in a while that I'm gonna have sex with someone I care about, might as well make the most of it." His voice cracks on the last words, and he turns his head back to look at his sleeve, picking at an imaginary loose thread as the tears stream down his face. He tightens his arm around Kurt's shoulders to press a kiss to the top of his head. There's a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"It's cute that you think I'd leave you."

It takes all of three seconds for Kurt to break down. He just visibly deflates; his eyes start watering, his lower lip starts trembling and then he sits back to lean against the cold brick wall of Scandals.

It's another five seconds before he _really_ breaks down. As in, gut-wrenching, heart-breaking, body-convulsing sobs tearing out his throat as he curls himself into a ball, a quivering pile of human tucked into Sebastian's side. He just tucks Kurt closer, resting his cheek on top of his head, making soft shushing sounds and stroking along his back. He feels warm wetness soaking through his thin polo, and suddenly he notices how _cold _it is outside. He can feel Kurt shivering in the thin clothes he, too, is wearing. He wraps his other arm around Kurt, and just holds him close.

He doesn't really know how long they sit there for, backs pressed against the rough brick and sides pressed against each other. Eventually Kurt's sobs subside, but he doesn't want to let go yet. So he doesn't. It's that easy, for once.

After quite a while, Kurt stirs, lifting his face from where it was smashed against his shoulder. Instinctively he turns his head to make sure he's okay, and he immediately wishes he hadn't, because suddenly he is face to face with a somewhat rumpled but still breathtakingly beautiful Kurt. Their lips are just inches away from each other, and he can all but see their hot breath mingling in the icy air. He has promised himself he wouldn't take advantage of Kurt's state, both inebriated and heartbroken, but if Kurt himself tilts his head up so their lips mold together, who is he to push him away, right? It catches him by surprise, but luckily his body is so used to kissing that he responds almost automatically.

Their lips move together, sliding and pulling and teeth nipping, and he lets his tongue trace the seam of Kurt's lips. His mouth opens, and Kurt's tongue comes out to hesitantly touch his own. It's clumsy and wet and they both taste like alcohol and Kurt still tastes like tears, but it's comforting and warm and he allows himself to stop thinking and drown in the feeling of Kurt's lips on his, their tongues against each other.

What feels like hours later, they break apart, both out of breath and out of things to say. They just look at each other for quite a while, until he finally breaks the silence, his voice coming out a lot more hoarse than anticipated.

"Are you going to sit there watching me all night or are you gonna go to my place and finish what we started?"

That actually brings a smile to Kurt's face, and he quips back, getting back onto his feet and only staggering a little bit.

"Staring at your face for long periods of time may damage my cornea, better not risk it. And your place sounds fine, if you have at least washed the sheets since last time."

The last part comes out too forcedly casual, but they both choose to ignore it. Instead, Kurt reaches down to pull Bas from the ground, and together they walk to his car.

The car ride is awkward, a weird kind of tension filling the air as they drive to the Smythe mansion. Kurt is curled up in the passenger seat, staring out the window, a tear sporadically rolling down his pale cheek. Bas himself is lost in his own thoughts. Even though it's only twenty minutes away, time stretches out like the infamous hallway in a dream, and every time they think they're almost there, it just seems to go farther and farther away from them. Halfway through, he turns on the radio, not caring what comes up, as long as it breaks the silence.

When, at last, they pull into the driveway, Kurt stumbles out of the car and almost keels over onto the front porch, but Sebastian jumps out of the car and catches him just in time. Even when Kurt steadies himself, he doesn't let go of his arm. They're facing each other and Kurt's hand creeps up to his chest, resting over the breast pocket of his light blue polo shirt, right above where his heart is beating like crazy. He doesn't want to break the moment, so he whispers.

"We wouldn't want to get your face all messed up by some wooden stairs, now would we?"

Sebastian feels as breathless as Kurt sounds when he answers.

"We most certainly would not want that."

Their eyes lock and it's like that moment in a rom-com, where everything kind of fades away into the background, save for the two of them. But then his focus drops to Kurt's lips, and he can't help but surge forward, claiming his mouth in a hard kiss. He presses him up against the front door, the bang too loud in the otherwise quiet night, but he doesn't care, he just wants more, more kisses, more skin, more iKurt . They keep kissing, deep and passionate, hard and fierce, one of Kurt's hands tangled in Sebastian's hair, breaking the hold of the hairspray and gel, the other fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer until they can both barely breathe.

Bas breaks away for air, starts mouthing at Kurt's pulse point. With a gasp, Kurt pushes Bas' head further into his neck.

"Bas, we —fuck—we should…_oh._"

He bites down softly on one of the tendons in Kurt's neck, relishing in the breathy moans that floats out of his throat. Kurt then honest-to-god _growls _, and switches their positions, pushing Sebastian against the door roughly.

"Inside. Now."

Sebastian nods shakily and scrambles for his keys. It takes him three tries to get the keys in the lock, and he almost smashes into the door face first because he doesn't push the handle down hard enough. When they get inside at last and the door is slammed close behind them, he pushes Kurt against it again. The boy whimpers, a flush raising high on his cheekbones, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Sebastian keeps sucking at his pulse point, and he can feel the skin getting hotter and hotter. Then, all of a sudden, he bites down sharply, and a scream tears out of Kurt's throat and he feels hands tangling in his hair again. Bas knows he is giving Kurt a hickey the size of fucking Texas, but that's what he wants. He wants him to be marked, to be owned, he wants him to know that someone still wants him to be theirs. And, though he may not say it explicitly, he knows Kurt loves that everyone who sees it will know he _belongs_ to somebody.

Kurt is gasping for breath now, and his hands come down from Bas' hair to tug on the hem of his shirt. Luckily he gets the hint quickly enough, and he swiftly lifts the polo shirt over his head. Then he starts fumbling with the buttons and zippers and _chains_ on Kurt's shirt and after about a minute he just gives up because i_really? _Kurt lets out a breathless giggle and undoes the shirt in three rapid hand motions and then finally —_finally . _The vast expanse of pale skin laid out in front of him is just begging to be marked.

And so he does. He latches onto Kurt's collarbone, biting softly and soothing the sting with his tongue, before moving up along his—never ending, oh i_my God _—neck. He sucks and bites and makes sure there is not an inch that he hasn't felt or tasted, marked as his. He slides his hand up Kurt's torso, feeling the firmness of the muscle there, the hard ridges of bone and the curves of his side.

When he comes up at the dip of Kurt's throat, he slides his hand up, his thumb moving over Kurt's Adam's apple, pressing just hard enough to hear the hitch in his breath, and then slides his hands down again, purposely catching his fingers on his nipples, teasing them to little peaks. He wants him to feel good, to feel treasured and perhaps even loved, though God knows he can't give him actual love. He's too broken for that. What he can give though, is pleasure, and lots of it.

So he catches Kurt's lips in a kiss and softly rakes his nails down Kurt's stomach, scratching lightly at the trail of hair that leads into his skin-tight jeans. He leans down and tentatively licks over one of Kurt's nipples, smiling at the surprised gasp it earns him. He closes his mouth over it, lightly tugging on it with his teeth, swirling his tongue around it. When he feels like it has had a sufficient amount of attention paid to it, he moves to the other one, repeating the process. He moves down even more, sucking hickeys at random intervals, licking, biting, until Kurt's entire upper body is covered in bruises and bite marks, interrupted by long, vertical scratches.

He drops to his knees and starts working on the buttons of Kurt's pants, because a zipper was apparently too mainstream. Luckily these are a lot easier than the ones on his shirt, so in a few short moments a sliver of dark purple underwear is shining through. Then comes the real job: getting the pants _off_. He tugs and Kurt shimmies his hips and finally his pants are around his ankles. The boots are quickly unlaced and then Kurt is in nothing but a pair of dark purple Calvin Klein's.

And boy, is it a sight to see. There are bruises littering his upper body and abdomen, his neck is one big hickey, his chest is heaving, his lips are red and swollen and his eyes dark with lust. He mouths over the shape of Kurt's cock through the boxers. Kurt's hands tangle in his hair, forcing him closer, pushing his face into his crotch. He goes over the length of it, then focuses on the darker spot on the boxers. He laves his tongue over it, mouths over the round shape of the head, until the fabric is spit-soaked and Kurt is brought down to moans and erratic breathing.

He pulls the boxers down, and the cock springs free and slaps wetly against his cheek. A breathy laugh is heard from above him, but it quickly turns into a moan when he grabs the base and licks over the head. It's just a kitten lick, just tasting and testing how far gone Kurt truly is. The hands in his hair tighten their grip and he sucks the head into his mouth. He knows how to do this with maximum pleasure for both parties, how to stretch it out. In short, he loves giving head, and he's damn good at it. His tongue slides over the slit, collecting the precome, before sinking his mouth further over his cock.

It's big, bigger than he remembers, and he can't help but moan around the head as it hits the back of his throat. He bobs his head up and down, pulling off to lick a stripe up the underside of the shaft, teasing the vein with the flat of his tongue. He moves lower, taking Kurt's balls in his mouth, rolling them on his tongue and sucking softly. His hands are around Kurt's thighs, pulling him closer as he moves down. His mouth travels over his cock and down over his hip, where he sucks a dark mark, to his inner thighs.

He scrapes his teeth over the sensitive flesh, grinning at the deep moan it earns him. He traces patterns on the skin, writes his name with his tongue, just for fun, and maybe a little bit to remind himself that Kurt really is his, even if only for the night.

When Kurt's inner thighs are sufficiently bruised and bitten, he moves his attention back up, back to where Kurt is hard as a rock and almost _leaking_ precome. He takes him in his mouth again, feeling him hot and heavy in his mouth, smelling him all around him. He feels the head hit the back of his throat and he looks up to where Kurt is looking down at him, his bottom lip cherry-red and glimmering in the dim light of the hallway and—oops. They didn't even make it out of the hallway. He can't bring himself to care though, redoubling his efforts, and within minutes, Kurt is almost fucking into his mouth, one hand tangled in his hair, the other grappling for purchase at the solid oak door he is leaning against. There's a steady stream of praise interlaced with expletives coming out of his mouth as Sebastian works his

magic over his cock.

"_F-fuck , _Bas! Oh, _right _ there! Keep going, don't stop, _fuck , _love your mouth, you're so good at this, _Bastian ,_ oh my God…"

The hand in his hair tightens so it's just this side of painful and with a lewd _pop _ he pulls off, much to Kurt's discontentment.

"No where did you go, no, no, get back."

Kurt tries to guide his face back to where he is _still _ rock hard, but Sebastian isn't having any of it.

"Don't worry, Princess, you'll get off. Now turn around."

Kurt whines, but does as he's told. He puts his two hands up against the door and sticks his ass out towards Sebastian. Bas nips at the crease between his thigh and his butt cheek, then licks along it, tasting salt and sweat and iKurt . He sucks a mark right there, biting down softly and licking over it again to soothe the sting. He then brings his hands up, kneads at Kurt's ass and pulls his cheeks apart to reveal the pink, puckered hole. He blows across it, the cold air making it clench involuntarily, and he presses a dry kiss to it.

Somewhere above him, Kurt throws his head back and moans, long and loud. Taking this as an encouragement, he tentatively licks over his hole. It clenches and he licks again, and again. One time the licks are short, fast flicks of the tip of his tongue, another time long, broad strokes with the flat of his tongue. He varies speed, sometimes just barely thrusting his tongue inside, and sometimes he just keeps teasing around the rim.

When the spit starts dripping down his chin—and Kurt's balls—he licks it up, then stiffens his tongue and gently probes at the hole. After some wriggling the muscles relax, and he pushes in, shallowly at first, but then, getting more and more confident, he pushes his tongue deeper and deeper. Kurt's moans get louder and louder, urging him on to go faster, deeper, harder, _more_. He feels Kurt's ass clench around his tongue and has to grip the base of his own cock to keep from coming. Redoubling his efforts, he uses both his hands to keep his cheeks spread open, then dives back in to lap at his hole and fuck Kurt with his tongue. After a while he pulls back to admire what he has done: Kurt's hole is red, spit-slicked, and clenching around nothing.

The area around it is also glistening with saliva, but still too pale for his liking, so he surges forward and harshly bites right under Kurt's left cheek, after sucking on the skin and worrying it between his teeth. He hears Kurt's muffled cries and looks up to see that he is biting his own arm to keep from shouting all over the neighborhood. Perfect. His hair is mussed and his back is also covered with bite marks and hickeys.

All his.

He pulls Kurt's cheeks apart again, and teases his thumb around the rim. He applies gentle pressure, just enough to slightly stretch Kurt's hole, but not quite enough to get past the first ring of muscle. He presses a little harder, and his thumb slides in with a _pop _. Kurt clenches down on it, and moans long and loud. After scrambling to find his pants—which he had carelessly chucked aside in his haste to get naked— to quickly find the packet of lube and the condom he always keeps in pocket, he pulls it out with a mumbled 'Eureka', and squeezes some on his fingers, thoroughly coating them.

He brings his index finger back to Kurt's hole, circling the rim and then slowly, i_so _ slowly pushing in. Kurt clenches down on the intrusion and moans brokenly at finally having something in his ass. When Kurt starts pushing back onto his finger, he inserts another, then another, until he deems him sufficiently stretched. Kurt's hand has snuck down to stroke himself, but he bats his hand away, instead squeezing at the base of his cock. Kurt's long and high whine sounds something like "why?", so he plasters himself along Kurt's back and bites his earlobe before whispering in his ear.

"Because we're gonna have some more fun, and I don't want this to be over in three minutes."

Even in this state, inebriated and his mind lust-addled, Kurt still finds the dignity to scoff.

"I have more stamina than that, and you know it." He throws over his shoulder. Sebastian just smirks and slides the head of his cock over Kurt's slick hole.

"Nng, Bas! Just put it _in !_"

He smirks to himself at the lack of control in Kurt's voice.

"Put _what _ in exactly?"

He slides one finger in, then pulls it back again.

"This maybe?"

Above him, Kurt keens wantonly.

"Your fucking _dick , _Sebastian, I want—I _need _ your fucking dick in my ass, filling me up till I can't fucking _breathe _ anymore, _please!_"

"No."

Kurt turns his head abruptly.

"What?"

"I said no, I want to see your face."

At that Kurt turns around to face him.

"Sebastian, I am _not _letting you fuck me against a wooden door."

He smirks.

"Who said anything about a door?"

He hooks his hands around Kurt's thighs and lifts him up. With a surprised squeal Kurt wraps his arms around Bas' neck and his legs around his waist, breath hitching slightly when their cocks brush. Three feet further, Bas pushes him against the wall next to the door. Kurt laughs breathlessly and buries his face in Bas' neck.

"Okay, it's not a door. Now put your dick in me."

Sebastian laughs too.

"Hey, you were the only one opposed to a door, I was just fine fucking you into my parents' ancient oak door."

Kurt groans and looks up.

"Please don't mention your parents during sex, even though I've never met them. Just fuck me."

He happily complies, and thrusts his hips up, the heads of their cocks brushing together. They both moan, and Kurt shifts in his arms so that Sebastian's cock slides between his cheeks, right to where his hole is still slippery and stretched from the fingering. Kurt's arms tense around his neck and he lifts himself just a bit higher on Bas' body, so that he can slide a hand underneath himself to guide Sebastian's cock to his hole and then slowly, _way _ too slowly, sinks down on it.

They both groan when Sebastian's hips are finally flush against Kurt's ass. His cock is enveloped in tight heat, rhythmically clenching down on him to get used to the intrusion, and Kurt pulls him closer for a kiss that is absolutely zero percent finesse and one hundred percent desperation. They bite and suck at each other's lips, until Sebastian backs off with a gasp and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. The movement causes his cock to shift inside of Kurt, who bucks his hips and i_oh. Okay. _

Sebastian slowly pulls back until it's just the head inside Kurt's ass, stretching the rim, and then he slams back in. The lewd sound of skin on skin resonates through the empty hallway, together with Kurt's surprisingly deep moans and Sebastian's grunts. Together they build a steady rhythm, with Kurt pushing down right when Bas thrusts up. It only takes Kurt a couple of minutes before he reaches in between them to start fisting his cock. Sebastian quickly bats his hand away and starts rapidly jerking him off while still fucking into him. Kurt arches against the wall and whines brokenly as he comes in between them, wet and hot. Come coats his fist and there are white splatters until about halfway up Kurt's chest. He slumps against him, arms still loosely looped around his neck, but his legs unwrap from where they were tangled around his waist.

Sebastian sighs. This isn't going to work. Kurt is too worn out and if he has to keep him up against the wall— let's just say, he wouldn't really be able to enjoy it very much. So he lets Kurt down, then turns him around with the instruction to lean against the wall. He pulls him back by his hips, slides his cock back in and leans over to kiss the back of Kurt's neck, before starting to fuck him again in earnest. Kurt is still shuddering with aftershocks from his orgasm and half with pinpricks of oversensitivity, but it only takes Sebastian a few thrusts before he's coming in the condom.

They all but collapse on the floor as soon as Sebastian is done coming. He has only just enough sense to pull out and tie off the condom. It's only after a while, at the prospect of parents or a sibling coming home unexpectedly, that he rouses Kurt from his slumbers with a soft kiss to his stomach.

"Let's take this upstairs, baby."

He only gets a small 'hmm' in return, but he gets to his feet nonetheless, trying to pull Kurt up with him.

"Come on, big boy, it's just about twenty steps up." Kurt groans and buries his face in the crook of his neck.

"'S too much. Jus' wanna stay here."

Sebastian smiles and cups Kurt's face in both hands, before kissing him softly on the lips.

"The bed's comfortable."

"So is the floor. I'm tired"

"There are pillows upstairs. And a shower."

"Don't care, don't wanna move."

Sebastian smirks.

"Okay, well, I guess I'll just have to fuck myself on my fingers 'till I come. Or maybe I'll try out one of my new toys, if you're staying here anyways…"

Kurt cracks an eye open at that.

"More sex?"

"If you come upstairs."

"If you let me top."

He doesn't say anything, just saunters towards the stairs with just a little more swing in his hips than he normally would have. Just as he reaches the top of the stairs, he feels a warm body press to his back, arms snaking around his waist and a gust of hot breath against the top of his spine. He quickly opens the door to his room. They fall on the bed in a tangle of limbs, but somehow Kurt gets Sebastian maneuvered onto his stomach. He starts kissing down his spine, pressing a delicate kiss to every vertebra and sucking light marks here and there.

Kurt stops right at the two tiny dimples above his ass, and he wants to cry. But then he hears the familiar click of the lube bottle and he feels two fingers teasingly running along his crack. One pushes in slowly and Sebastian tenses up momentarily, but Kurt just bends down and licks around his finger until Bas relaxes.

He lets Kurt slowly, gently stretch him open, and then stuffs a pillow under his own hips. He reaches back to line them up, and Kurt carefully pushes inside. The stretch makes his breath stutter in the back of his throat, and he has to try his best to not just come right then and there. After a minute or two though, he starts pushing back, the movement making the both of them moan. Kurt starts thrusting in earnest, but pulls out after only a few minutes.

"Turn around."

Sebastian doesn't hesitate to turn onto his back, interlacing his fingers with Kurt's, and bringing them up above his head. Kurt eases himself back in and starts thrusting again, and when he untangles one of his hands to grip at the headboard, Bas himself reaches down to start jerking off fast and hard. Within minutes they are both coming again. Kurt just collapses on top of Sebastian, then pulls out, making the two of them whimper. After that, they just lay together for a while, until Sebastian pipes up from underneath him.

"I'm gross."

Kurt giggles and presses a kiss to the top of his spine.

"So am I."

"Shower?"

"Five more minutes."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Five more minutes turns into half an hour, and finally they pull themselves out of bed for a shower. Kurt almost falls over in the shower, leaning heavily on Sebastian, but he just grips him tightly and doesn't let him go until the water beating down on their shoulders has gone cold. Wrapped in giant, fluffy towels, they stagger back to the bed, and fall asleep almost instantly.

* * *

Birds are chirping happily outside and the sun is shining its beautiful rays of happiness through the window, but Sebastian is still snoring peacefully, face smashed into Kurt's bare chest. Kurt is stirring, slowly waking up. The doorbell rings. Sebastian sits up immediately, hair sticking up at odd angles and eyes still half closed, murmuring unintelligibly. Kurt lazily opens his eyes, frowning against the harsh sunlight filtering through the windowpanes. Sebastian is still looking around, bewildered. Various scratches and hickeys litter his chest, and Kurt blushes at the memories of last night. He pulls Bas closer and presses a kiss to his forehead.

"Go back to sleep, I'll get the door."

Sebastian nods and slowly lowers himself back into the pillows.

Kurt gets up. Stretching out like a cat, he feels his joints clicking back into place and he yawns. The bell rings for a second time, and he quickly puts on a pair of boxers and goes downstairs, praying it's nobody he knows. The door opens with a worrying creak and there stands Blaine. Fuck.

"Um. What-"

"Kurt?"

Blaine knows the hurt is audible in his voice, and he sees Kurt wince slightly.

"What are you doing here?"

He looks Kurt over incredulously, taking in his chest, all of the hickeys and bite marks, and gulps audibly before straightening up, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

"I see you made good use of last night?"

It's more of a statement than a question, but Kurt still answers.

"As a matter of fact, I did. I had a wonderful time after you left."

He chokes out a laugh, willing the ache in his chest away as he says, voice dripping with sarcasm: "I can see that."

Kurt crosses his arms over his chest as Blaine continues to look him over with piercing eyes. The floorboards behind Kurt are creaking with footsteps, and then there's a hand on Kurt's shoulder, right where his own always used to rest. Sebastian stands behind him, with a look he'd never expected to see on the boy's face. It's iconcern . It makes a surge of anger ignite somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.

"Everything okay?", the motherfucker asks, as if anything can ever be okay.

"No. You fucked my boyfriend."

The sadness makes way for pure and utter _rage_ . Sebastian merely smirks.

"You pretty much gave me permission, asshole, or don't you remember? You never were one to hold your liquor."

He wants to punch the smirk off his stupid face. He steps forward, as menacingly as possible with his height, and jabs his finger in Sebastian's bare chest.

"Stay. Away. From. My. Boyfriend. Slut."

Sebastian slides a protective arm around Kurt's waist, who leans into him and shoots Blaine a glare that makes his stomach cramp up.

"No. You get away from me. I don't want you around anymore. I'm not some kind of possession, Blaine. You don't own me. Neither does Bas, but at least he doesn't act like he does."

Blaine scoffs, tears forming in his eyes.

"Yeah, right. As if he doesn't objectify you or sees you as just another body with a dick and a hole to stuff his own dick in."

He sees the anger on Sebastian's face the moment the words have left his mouth, but he doesn't regret it. Sebastian steps forward, crowding his space and shoving him backward.

"Don't you _ever_ dare speak about him like that. No wonder he doesn't want you anymore. Hell, I'm surprised he stayed with you for so long."

Blaine moves to say something, but Sebastian cuts him off.

"No, I don't want to hear it. In fact, I don't want to see your face. Ever. Again. So just take your perky little spoiled ass back to Mommy and Daddy. You treated Kurt like shit, Blaine, and I'm surprised he didn't slam the door in your fucking face. Bye."

Sebastian turns around, the sun hitting the scratches and hickeys on his shoulders. He stalks back inside and pulls the door closed, leaving Blaine alone with his shattered heart. In the rapidly closing space between the door and the doorframe he can still see them both, wrapping their arms around each other. How the scratches on both their shoulders stand in contrast with the soft look they share. The door closes with a bang that echoes through Blaine's bones.


End file.
